


Artistic Licence

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Kinktober 2018 [14]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, alistair is a very patient man, and he plays james like a fiddle, artist!James, no real spoilers for the universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 10:09:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16303157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Alistair comes home to find his husband with artist's block.





	Artistic Licence

**Author's Note:**

> Day fourteen was masturbation, and I think these boys did a great job filling that. The ending is a little bit rushed, but otherwise I actually really enjoy this one, and I hope you do too.

At least in this particular instance, Alistair couldn’t say he’d literally been roped into it. He’d come home to find James pacing about their tiny flat in an anxious huff, a frustration Alistair was more used to seeing on Harry splashed across the artist’s face along with a great deal of paint in a variety of colours. Alistair had wordlessly set down his attaché case, shrugged out of his suit jacket, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and taken James’s hands, forcing him to stop darting from room to room, filling the small space with his overwhelming presence.

James had pressed his forehead against Alistair’s, taking a deep breath and murmuring, “My darling, my love, the fire of my heart and the sun in my sky.” The platitudes seemed to calm him, and Alistair allowed a small smile to grace his lips.

“The muses aren’t speaking to you today?”

James shook his head. “I’m afraid they’ve abandoned me. You’re the only one left.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep you inspired until their return,” Alistair said calmly. He couldn’t help the way his smile widened as James suddenly lit up.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Of course!” Alistair was still holding his hands, and James used them to drag his partner towards his studio, walking backwards and babbling eagerly, “You don’t mind, do you darling? Of course, I’d understand if you were busy, but I really think this will help.” He paused long enough to consider, and then added, “Would you mind taking your clothes off?”

Alistair was already disrobing. James preferred to sketch or paint him nude if he could, partly because it was the easiest way to have unlimited access to analysing the complexities of human anatomy and partly because they were a couple, after all, and James very much enjoyed seeing Alistair naked. Obligingly, Alistair stripped off his waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. As he did so, however, he requested, “Fetch my attaché case, please? I’d like to look over my papers if at all possible while you’re…” He paused. “Pencil or paint?”

“Paint,” James said, and went to fetch Alistair’s case.

By the time he returned, Alistair was fully nude and had settled himself on the sofa in the corner of James’s studio. He accepted the case, unsnapped it, and pulled out the stack of files he kept on his various restaurants. Officially, he did have someone to do the bookkeeping for him, but he liked to double check it himself. He set the case on the floor and the papers in a pile next to him on the sofa, picking up the top one, which was for The Birch Tree, before glancing up at James. “Well? How would you like me?”

James had been busy setting up his easel, but at Alistair’s words he glanced up, tilting his head in contemplation. Then he moved over to the sofa, extending a hand. “May I?”

“Of course.” Alistair allowed himself to be moved, used to the procedure by now. James bent his knee, propping one of Alistair’s legs so it rested against the back of the sofa, drawing the other one to the side a little so Alistair’s soft cock rested visibly between them. James hesitated a moment, glancing up at Alistair, and when Alistair gave a nod of permission James took his cock and guided it up, nestling the soft flesh in the juncture where Alistair’s thigh met his hip. It was as clinical a touch as the ones to his legs had been, and Alistair shifted slightly, settling in more comfortably. “Are my arms alright, or are you going to pose those too?”

“If I might?”

Alistair set the paper he was holding against his bent leg and James threaded their fingers together, an unnecessary but charming gesture as he settled Alistair’s arms over his head, draping one off the side and the other over the armrest of the sofa. He let go and took a step back, head tilting this way and that as he squinted, getting a sense of the position, and then he nodded. “Perfect. Do you think you can hold that?”

“Mmhm,” Alistair murmured absentmindedly, already focusing in on his papers.

James returned to his easel, pulling out his paints, his gaze flicking back and forth between Alistair and his canvas as his mixed the colours and began to outline the shapes he would need.

Alistair could more or less ignore him like this, absorbed in his own work. Occasionally he moved to trade out the paper he was reviewing, always careful to return his arm to the position it had been in, but otherwise he stayed still and let James work. His husband murmured to himself as he did, not loud enough for Alistair to hear, so he didn’t strain himself trying.

He only looked up when the sound of muttering stopped, frowning over in James’s direction. The artist was staring at his canvas, then at Alistair, then back at the canvas, like the two images weren’t truly connecting in his mind. Alistair set his paper aside, sweeping the pile carefully to the floor so they would be out of the way, and waited for the question he suspected was coming.

“Darling, would you mind terribly if I made you a little bit more…debauched?”

The corner of Alistair’s lips quirked up. James looked a touch apologetic, but there wasn’t a trace of shame on his face. Alistair was rather convinced James didn’t know what shame felt like, and while at times it could be a bit embarrassing, it never bothered him in their domestic life. And Alistair was accustomed to James requesting this when he modelled. There was something about the explicit that always seemed to pave the way in James’s brain for other, tamer subjects, loosening him up in more ways than one.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked idly.

“Would you mind if I ejaculated on you?”

It took a great deal of effort for Alistair to hold back a snort. The contrast between artist James and the James he shared a bed with was stark; his husband was a master of dirty talk, full of passionate words to entice and arouse, but the way he phrased it here was so clinical that it was almost comical. “Avoid my face, but otherwise I don’t mind,” Alistair said reasonably.

James smiled at him, sweetly, not seductively, and set down his pallet. He approached the sofa casually, working at the fastenings of his trousers, leaving faint smudges of brown-red paint on the front of the beige fabric as he withdrew his cock. He stood over Alistair, who tilted his head back to better hold James’s gaze, and then set one knee on the sofa next to Alistair’s thigh. He curled his fingers more firmly around himself and began to stroke the soft flesh, coaxing it into arousal.

Alistair allowed a lazy smile to spread across his lips. James stopped long enough to spit into his hand, and then continued, his cock firming under his ministrations, rising slowly. James let out a soft sound of pleasure, and Alistair’s smile widened as he quipped, “It’s a very good thing you’re not the type to suffer for your art. I don’t know how you’d get any work done.”

It wasn’t an especially suggestive phrase, but James groaned anyway, increasing the pace of his hand. “Touch yourself?” he begged. “I want to see you too, my darling.”

“I thought the painter and subject should be impartial,” Alistair teased.

“Bollocks,” James said. “That’s never been my philosophy and you know it.” He twisted his wrist on the downstroke and his eyelids fluttered. “ _Oh_ , mmm, yes.” He turned pleading eyes back to Alistair, who couldn’t deny the way his cock twitched. “Please, my heart?”

Alistair spat into his palm and curled his fingers around his cock. He teased it at, swiping his thumb over the head and tracing the vein to the root and then back up again, keeping his grip light and teasing in contrast to James’s sharp, frantic strokes. Patience was the name of the game, in his opinion, and it felt so much better to draw out the pleasure, his cock hardening gradually as warmth settled in his groin.

“That’s it,” James breathed. “Beautiful, dearest.”

“Slow down,” Alistair murmured. “Or you’ll spend too early. Unless you want to come before I do?”

James bit back a whine of complaint and slowed his hand, hips twitching forward as if that could urge his arm to pick up the pace again. Alistair purposely allowed his eyes to drift shut, knowing it drove James wild. He moaned as he let go of his cock, reached lower to cup his balls and squeeze them, rolling them in his hand.

“Alistair.” James’s voice was pitched lower with arousal and desperation, and Alistair opened his eyes again, a sly smile on his lips, to take in the sight of his husband, hand completely still and holding tight to the base of his cock in an effort not to come.

“What’s the matter?” Alistair teased. “You can come any time you like, love.”

“You first,” James begged. “Alistair, please.”

Alistair took hold of his cock again, and James breathed out a sigh of relief as he began to stroke more firmly, matching pace. It was a heady feeling, to hold such a wild man so completely in the palm of his hand, and Alistair felt his cock throb in his grip, James’s eyes fixed on his crotch, begging him not to slow down again, to keep going until they both could fall over the edge.

Alistair reached his other hand down too, so he could continue fondling his balls without affecting his strokes. He tugged them gently, enjoying the way they tightened immediately, sending a zing along his spine that he could almost imagine James felt too, given the way his husband let out a soft cry. They were both close, and for his husband’s sake Alistair was ready to stop teasing. His cock burned just a little, saliva not really an adequate substitute for lube but not so painful as to be unpleasant. Instead, the two sensations mingled, like a milder version of the sensation when he’d allowed James to use a riding crop on him. They both much preferred it the other way around, but it was a delicious feeling nonetheless.

James sank his teeth into his bottom lip, clearly fighting back the need to whimper, and he planted his free hand on the back of the sofa, hunching in on himself as his strokes started to outpace Alistair’s, desperation guiding his hand more so than Alistair. Alistair chose not to reign him in, but neither did he speed up, not needing it to urge him closer and closer to the breaking point. Instead he focused on the head of his cock, sliding his thumb over the slit on every downstroke, and slipped the hand on his balls a little lower, thumbing over his perineum and then pressing gently into his hole. James’s eyes widened at the gesture, and Alistair tilted his head back against the sofa and let out a curse of pleasure as he came, covering his hand and his chest in thick ropes of cum.

It took only seconds for James to follow suit, just enough sense left in his head to direct his cock down, his own seed joining Alistair’s as he painted his husband in strings of pearly white, still stroking frantically as he pushed himself to the point of overstimulation, trying to wring out every drop.

Alistair smiled fondly. James had no real sense of moderation. It was entirely too charming sometimes.

James finally let himself go, breathing hard. Alistair forced himself not to laugh at the state of James’s cock, the smears of paint from his hand streaked liberally along his cock in blotches of red and brown and blue and green. James didn’t look down at himself, tucking his cock away and doing up his trousers blindly. He was transfixed, staring at Alistair, who allowed his limbs to droop lazily back into the pose he’d been in earlier. James reached out, as if to touch the glistening tracks of semen, and then moved his hand lower, gingerly taking Alistair’s cock again – Alistair hissed slightly at the sensation, and James murmured a quiet apology – and putting it back into position. Alistair imagined he made quite a spectacle.

“Better?” he asked James, who blinked briefly, like he didn’t understand the question.

Then understanding dawned on his face and he nodded swiftly. “Much better, darling. You’re not cramping, are you? Do you think you can keep holding that position?”

Alistair nodded, flicking his wrist in a half-hearted wave of his hand. “Go ahead and paint. I might take a nap.” He certainly couldn’t get any more work done, not without risking staining the papers with cum. He was more of a professional than that.

James returned to his easel, snatching up his brush and pallet and setting to work again. Alistair allowed his eyes to drift closed, and he fell asleep to the sound of James murmuring to himself as he worked.

He woke again to an empty room, a thick blanket spread lovingly over him, and the smell of food cooking in the kitchen. Alistair sat up, noting as he did so that at some point James must have wiped him down with a cloth, because his skin was no longer covered in dried ejaculate. His papers had wisely not been touched, but still lay where he’d left them next to the sofa. Alistair slid them back into the attaché case and stretched, then gathered the blanket around his waist and stood up, wandering over to the easel, which hadn’t been moved.

The painting wasn’t quite as masterful as some of the works Alistair had seen James produce, but considering how long he’d spent on it – only a few hours, as Alistair had returned in the afternoon and the sun was only just starting to sink over the streets of London – it was quite good. James had gotten the colouring perfect to depict the debauchery of the scene to its full effect, and Alistair felt his cock twitch with mild interest.

He turned away from the painting and wandered back into the kitchen, seeking out his husband. James stood over the stove, still murmuring cheerfully to himself as he cooked. Alistair had to appreciate the fact that James threw himself into the culinary arts with as much enthusiasm as he did painting. Meals with him were a far cry from the bland army food that Alistair had endured in the service, and the reminder that he was home and safe never failed to soothe him.

James glanced back at the sound of his footsteps, and he smiled. “I didn’t want to wake you. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Alistair nodded and took a seat at the table. “Have the muses returned?”

“I think so,” James said cheerfully. “I don’t know how you do it, darling. You truly are the light of my life.”

Words as sweet as James’s rarely came to Alistair’s tongue, and never easily. He was affectionate, to be sure, but he’d always been to more reserved of the pair. Still, it wasn’t a hardship for him to reply, “I love you too.” And it was well worth it for the beaming smile James shot back at him.

On a whim, he asked, “Do you want to go out dancing tonight?”

James blinked, freezing momentarily in the middle of plating up dinner. “You want to go dancing?” The incredulity in his voice was not surprising. Alistair was rarely the dancing type.

But he nodded. “After dinner. We could go to La Hirondelle. I have some papers to deliver to Ian anyway, and I think he and Harry will be there. We could stop by, stay a little. Dance.”

James set two plates on the table and sat down across from Alistair, frowning faintly. “Did I forget our anniversary again? I know it’s not my birthday.”

Alistair shook his head. “I just feel like dancing tonight.”

“Alright,” James said slowly. “After dinner then.” He gave Alistair another beautiful smile, lit up like the sun, and Alistair smiled back.

It was an anniversary of sorts. Marrying James was out of the question in any legal sense, of course, but they’d referred to each other as husbands without anything more than a casual mention of commitment for long enough. Somewhere on the floor of James’s studio, in the pocket of his trousers, Alistair had a ring. And although Alistair wasn’t an especially optimistic person, he couldn’t imagine James saying no.


End file.
